The Ender Quintet (Omnibus)

by Card, Orson Scott

  Morgan sent an ensign to bring her, and then sat down and tried to make small talk while they waited. He told two ostensibly amusing stories from his own training days—he was never Battle School material, he came up “the hard way, through the ranks.” It was clear that he resented Battle School and the implied inferiority of anyone who wasn’t invited to attend.

  Is that all this is? Ender wondered. The traditional rivalry between graduates of a service academy and those who didn’t have such a head start?

  Valentine came in to find Ender laughing at Morgan’s story. “Val,” said Ender, still chuckling. “We need you to help us with something.” In a few moments he explained about the message that had preempted hours of ansible time, shutting everything else out. “It caused a lot of consternation, and naturally, Admiral Morgan has been concerned. It’ll put our minds at ease if you can open the message right here and give us some idea of what it’s about.”

  “I’ll need to watch you open it,” said Morgan.

  “No you won’t,” said Valentine.

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  “What Valentine meant to say,” said Ender, “is that she doesn’t want you to see her actual security procedures—on a message from the Hegemon, you can understand her caution. But I’m sure that she’ll let us know the contents of the message in some readily verifiable way.” Ender looked at Valentine and gave her a mockingly cute smile and shrug. “For me, Val?”

  He knew she would recognize this as a mockery of their relationship, put on entirely for Morgan’s benefit; of course she played along. “For you, Mr. Potato Head. Where’s the access?”

  In moments, Valentine was sitting at the end of the desk, poking her way through the holodisplay. “Oh, this is only semi-secure,” she said. “Just a fingerprint. Anybody could have gotten into it just by cutting off my finger. I’ll have to tell Peter to use full security—retina, DNA, heartbeat—so that they have to keep me alive in order to get in. He just doesn’t value me highly enough.”

  She sat there reading for a little while, then sighed. “I can’t believe what an idiot Peter is. And Graff, for that matter. There’s nothing in here that couldn’t have been sent unsecured, and there’s no reason why it couldn’t have been sent piecemeal instead of in a single uninterruptible top-priority flow. It’s just a bunch of articles and summaries and so on about events on Earth for the past couple of years. It seems that there are wars and rumors of wars.” She glanced at Ender.

  He got the King James Version reference—he had memorized long passages of it as part of his strategy for dealing with a minor crisis in Battle School several years back. “Well, transmitting it certainly took time, and times, and half a time,” he said.

  “I’ll need to—I’d like to see some evidence that this is what you say,” said Morgan. “You have to understand that anything that seemed to threaten the security of my ship and my mission must be verified.”

  “Well, that’s the awkward thing,” said Valentine. “I’m perfectly happy to let you see the entire infodump—in fact, I suggest that it be put into the library so everyone can have access to it. It’s bound to be fascinating to people to have an idea of the things that have been happening on Earth. I can’t wait to read it myself.”

  “But?” asked Ender.

  “It’s the cover letter itself.” She looked genuinely embarrassed. “My brother makes slighting references to you. I hope you understand that neither Ender nor I discussed you with Peter in any way—anything he says is his own assumption. I can assure you that Ender and I hold you in the highest respect.”

  With that, she rotated the holodisplay and Ender and Valentine sat silently to watch Morgan read.

  At the end, he sighed, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his forehead on his fingertips. “Well, I am embarrassed indeed.”

  “Not at all,” said Ender. “A perfectly understandable mistake. I’d rather fly with a captain who takes every potential threat to his ship seriously than one who thinks that losing communications for three hours is no big deal.”

  Morgan took the olive branch. “I’m glad you see it that way, Admiral Wiggin.”

  “Ender,” Ender corrected him.

  Valentine stood up, smiling. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll leave the whole thing unencrypted here on your desk, as long as you assure me that every speck of it will be downloaded into the library—except my brother’s personal letter.” She turned to Ender. “He says he loves me and misses me and he wants me to tell you to write to our parents. They aren’t getting any younger, and they’re very hurt not to have heard from you.”

  “Yes,” said Ender. “I should have done that as soon as the ship left. But I didn’t want to take up ansible time on personal matters.” He smiled ruefully at Morgan. “And then we end up doing this, all because Peter and Graff have an inflated sense of their own importance.”

  “I’ll tell my egocentric brother to send future messages a different way,” said Valentine. “I assume you won’t mind my sending such a message by ansible.”

  They were heading for the door, Morgan shepherding them, full of smiles and “I’m glad you’re so understanding,” when Ender stopped.

  “Oh, Admiral Morgan,” said Ender.

  “Please call me Quincy.”

  “Oh, I could never do that,” said Ender. “Our respective ranks allow it, but if anybody heard me address you that way, there’d be no way to erase the visual image of a teenager speaking to the captain of the ship in a way that could only seem disrespectful. I’m sure we agree on that. Nothing can undermine the authority of the captain.”

  “Very wisely said,” Morgan replied. “You’re taking better care of my position than I am myself. But you wanted to say something?”

  “Yes. The play reading. It really is just that—we’re reading Taming of the Shrew. I’m playing Lucentio. Val has a small part, too. Everyone was looking forward to it. And now it’s been canceled without a word of explanation.”

  Morgan looked puzzled. “If it’s just a play reading, then go ahead and do it.”

  “Of course we will,” said Ender, “now that we have your permission. But you see, some of the participants invited crew members to attend. And the cancellation might leave some bad feelings. Hard on morale, don’t you think? I wanted to suggest a sort of gesture from you, to show that it really was a misunderstanding. To patch up any bad feelings.”

  “What sort of gesture?” asked Morgan.

  “Just—when we reschedule it, why don’t you come and watch? Let them see you laughing at the comedy.”

  “He could play a part,” said Valentine. “I’m sure the man playing Christopher Sly—”

  “My sister is joking,” said Ender. “This is a comedy, and every part in it is beneath the dignity of the captain of the ship. I’m only suggesting that you attend. Perhaps just for the first half. You can always plead urgent business at the break halfway through. Everyone will understand. Meanwhile, though, they’ll all see that you really do care about them and what they do during this voyage. It will go a long way toward making them feel good about your leadership, during the voyage and after we arrive.”

  “After we arrive?” asked Valentine.

  Ender looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. “As Admiral Morgan pointed out to me during our conversation, none of the colonists will be likely to follow the leadership of a teenage boy. They’ll need to be assured that Admiral Morgan’s authority is behind whatever I do, officially, as governor. So I think that makes it all the more important that they see the admiral and get to know him, so they’ll trust him to provide strong leadership.”

  Ender was afraid Valentine was going to lose control right there and either laugh or scream at him. But she did neither. “I see,” she said.

  “That’s actually a good idea,” said Admiral Morgan. “Shall we go start it up?”

  “Oh, no,” said Valentine. “Everybody’s too upset. Nobody will be at their best. Why not let
us go smooth things over, explain that it was all a mistake and completely my fault. And then we can announce that you’re going to attend, that you’re glad the reading can go on after all, and we get a chance to perform for you. Everyone will be excited and happy. And if you can let off-duty crew come too, so much the better.”

  “I don’t want anything that lessens ship’s discipline,” said Morgan.

  Valentine’s answer was immediate. “If you’re right there with them, laughing at the play and enjoying it, then I can’t see that it will cause any weakening of the crew. It might even help morale. We actually do a pretty good job with the play.”

  “It would mean a lot to all of us,” said Ender.

  “Of course,” said Morgan. “You do that, and I’ll be there tomorrow at 1900. That was the starting time today, wasn’t it?”

  Ender and Valentine made their good-byes. The officers they passed looked amazed and relieved to see them smiling and chatting comfortably as they left.

  Not till they were back in the stateroom did they let down the façade, and then only long enough for Valentine to say, “He’s planning for you to be a figurehead while he rules behind the throne?”

  “There’s no throne,” said Ender. “It solves a lot of problems for me, don’t you think? It was going to be tough for a fifteen-year-old kid to lead a bunch of colonists who’ve already been living and farming on Shakespeare for forty years by the time I get there. But a man like Admiral Morgan is used to giving orders and being obeyed. They’ll fall right in line under his authority.”

  Valentine stared at him like he was insane. Then Ender gave that little twitch of his lower lip that had always been the giveaway that he was being ironic. He hoped she would leap to the correct conclusion—that Admiral Morgan certainly had the means of listening in on all their conversations and was bound to be using it right now, so nothing they said could be regarded as private.

  “All right,” said Valentine. “If you’re happy with it, I’m happy with it.” Whereupon she did that momentary bug-eyed thing she did to let him know she was lying.

  “I’m done with responsibility, Val,” said Ender. “I had quite enough in Battle School and on Eros. I intend to spend the voyage making friends and reading everything I can get my hands on.”

  “And at the end, you can write an essay called ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation.’”

  “It’s always summer when your heart is full of joy,” said Ender.

  “You are so full of crap,” said Valentine.

  CHAPTER 10

  To: PeterWiggin@hegemony.gov/hegemon

  From: vwiggin%Colony1@colmin.gov/citizen

  Subj: you arrogant bastard

  Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused, sending that package with such high priority that it shut down all other ansible communications with our ship? Certain persons thought it was some kind of attack on the ansible link and Ender was almost put into stasis for the duration—and that would have meant there AND back again.

  Once we sorted it all out, though, the package itself was very informative. Apparently you were cursed by some pseudo-Confucian to live in interesting times. Please send follow-ups. But make them low enough priority, please, that regular ship’s communications can continue. And don’t let Graff address it to Ender. It comes to me as a colonist, not to the governor-designate.

  Seems to me that you’re doing all right. Though that all might have changed between your sending and my reply. Ain’t space travel grand?

  Has Ender written to the parents yet? I can’t ask him (well, I HAVE asked him, but I can’t get answers) and I can’t ask THEM or they’ll know I’ve been trying to get him to write, which would hurt them all the more if he hasn’t written and discount the emotional value of his letters if he has.

  Stay smart. They can’t take that away from you.

  Your former puppet,

  Demosthenes

  Alessandra was happy when word came that the play reading was back on again. Mother had been devastated, though she showed it only to Alessandra in the privacy of their stateroom. She made a great show of not weeping, which was good, but she stalked around the tiny space, opening and closing things and slamming things and stomping her feet at every opportunity, and now and then emitting some fierce but gnomic statement like:

  “Why are we always in the backwash of somebody else’s boat?”

  Then, in the midst of a game of backgammon: “In the wars of men, women always lose!”

  And through the bathroom door: “There is no pleasure so simple that somebody won’t take it away just to hurt you!”

  In vain did Alessandra try to mollify her. “Mother, this wasn’t aimed at you, it was clearly aimed at Ender.”

  Such responses always triggered a long emotional diatribe in which no amount of logic could cause Mother to change her mind—though moments later, she might have completely adopted Alessandra’s point of view after all, acting as if that’s how she had felt all along.

  Yet if Alessandra didn’t answer her mother’s epigrammatic observations, the storming about got worse and worse—Mother needed a response the way other people needed air. To ignore her was to smother her. So Alessandra answered, took part in the meaningless but intense conversation, and then ignored her mother’s inability to admit that she had changed her mind even though she had.

  It never seemed to occur to her mother that Alessandra herself was disappointed, that playing Bianca to Ender’s Lucentio had made her feel…what? Not love—she was definitely not in love. Ender was nice enough, but he was exactly as nice to Alessandra as to everyone else, so it was plain she was nothing special to him, and she was not interested in bestowing her affection on someone who had not first bestowed his on her. No, what Alessandra felt was glory. It was reflected, of course, from her mother’s quite stunning performance of Kate and from Ender’s fame as savior of the human race—and his notoriety as a child-killing monster, which Alessandra did not believe but which certainly added to the fascination.

  All disappointment was forgotten the moment the message came through to everyone’s desk: The reading was back on for the following night, and the admiral himself would attend.

  Alessandra immediately thought: The admiral? There are two admirals on this voyage, and one of them was part of the program from the start. Was this a calculated slight, that the message sounded as if only one officer held that lofty rank? The very fact that Ender had been summoned so peremptorily to see Admiral Morgan was another sign—did Ender really warrant so little respect? It made her a little angry on his behalf.

  Then she told herself: I have no bond with Ender Wiggin that should make me protective of his privileges. I’ve been infected with Mother’s disease, of acting as if her plans and dreams were already real. Ender is not in love with me, any more than I am with him. There will be girls on Shakespeare when we get there; by the time he’s old enough to marry, what will I be to him?

  What have I done, coming on this voyage to a place where there won’t be enough people my age to fill a city bus?

  Not for the first time, Alessandra envied her mother’s ability to make herself cheerful by sheer force of will.

  They dressed in their finest for the reading—not that there had been room for much in the way of clothes during the voyage. But they had spent some of their signing bonus buying clothing, before the rest got turned over to Grandmother. Most of the clothing had to meet the description on the list from the Ministry of Colonization—warm clothes for a chilly but not-too-cold winter, light-but-tough clothing for summer work, and at least one long-lasting frock for special occasions. Tonight’s reading was such an occasion—and here was where Mother had made sure that a bit of money was spent on gewgaws and accessories. They were over the top, really, and obviously costume jewelry. Then there were Mother’s bedazzling scarves, which looked almost ironically extravagant on her, but would look pathetic and needy on Alessandra. Mother was dressed to kill; Alessandra could only strive not to disappe
ar completely in Mother’s penumbra.

  They arrived just at the moment when the event was supposed to begin. Alessandra immediately rushed to her stool at the front, but Mother made a slow progress, greeting everyone, touching everyone, bestowing her smiles on everyone. Except one.

  Admiral Morgan was seated in the second row, with a few officers around him, insulating him from any contact with the public—it was so obvious he considered himself a breed apart and wanted no contact with mere colonists. That was the privilege of rank, and Alessandra did not begrudge it. She rather wished she had the power to create a cordon around herself to keep unwanted persons from intruding into her privacy.

  To Alessandra’s horror, once Mother got down front, she continued her grand progress by passing along the front row of seats, greeting people there—and in the second row as well. She was going to try to force Admiral Morgan to speak to her!

  But no, Mother’s plan was even worse. She made a point of introducing herself to—and flirting with—the officers on either side of the admiral. But she did not so much as pause in front of Morgan himself; it was as if he didn’t exist. A snub! Of the most powerful man in their little world!

  Alessandra could hardly bear to look at Morgan’s face, yet could not bring herself to look away, either. At first, he had watched Mother’s approach with resignation—he was going to have to speak to this woman. But when Mother passed right over him, his barely contained sneer gave way to consternation and then to seething anger. Mother had indeed made an enemy. What was she thinking? How could this help anything?

  But it was time to begin. The leading actors were seated on stools; the rest were on the front row, prepared to stand and face the audience when their parts came. Mother finally made her way to the stool in the center of the stage. Before sitting, she looked out over the audience beneficently and said, “Thank you so much for coming to our little performance. The play is set in Italy, where my daughter and I were born. But it is written in English, which comes to us only as a second language. My daughter is fluent, but I am not. So if I mispronounce, remember that Katharina was Italian, and in English she too would have my same accent.”